The Anatomist's Dream (16 page)

Ullendorf moved back against his chair as Kwert raised his eyes to meet his. They stared back and forth for a few moments, two dogs, one bone.

‘I don't want to harm him, Kwert,' Ullendorf said. ‘All I want is to study him a little, get a living sample if I can. The core I took at the trepanning I took no measures to preserve, and therefore it is dead. But what I want is to look at the living cells of his taupe, observe them at their daily work. It will be like watching ants busy in their formicaries. Like you, Kwert, I have my beliefs, and I believe that every body is composed of ­millions of cells, but in that head of his I think those cells might be quite different, that they must at the very least work and divide at a greater rate than is the norm. His taupe is like a bulbil, a new bud forming on the side of an old plant, ready to detach itself from the stem and become an independent being entire of itself.' He laughed briefly as Volstrecken reappeared and refilled their glasses, and smiled his wide smile. ‘Naturally I'm not suggesting that half Philbert's head is about to jump down and walk off out the door never to be seen again. That would be preposterous! What I am suggesting, however, is that a part of his body is working to a different plan than the rest of ours are . . . has a different time-scale, different aims and different goals, and that perhaps he really is the speciality you so desire, Kwert, after all.'

He pulled a small glass tube from his inside pocket and held it up to the light, shaking it as he did so.

‘Is this all that is inside his head, do you think?' Ullendorf said, looking not at the little tube but at Kwert, his body tensed like a string when it is twisted against a hook in the wall. Kwert stared at the tube, at the small cylinder of dark skin held within it, uncomfortably aware that the tiny circle of Philbert's skull Ullendorf had dug out at the same time was sitting in his pocket, wrapped in silk, and that day after day Kwert had concentrated on it and what it meant, if it meant anything at all.

‘Can you really believe,' Ullendorf went on, ‘that Philbert's taupe is just an extra handful of earth
,
serving only to bury his soul a little deeper within him?'

Kwert shook his head. ‘What is it you want?' he asked, and Ullendorf smiled again, replacing the tube of Philbert's taupe into his pocket and knew he had won.

‘Not much,' he replied. ‘I merely want to borrow him for a few weeks, take a closer look at that head of his – maybe see if I can't extract something living from his taupe, see if I can study it properly in the right environs. And you would be very ­welcome to accompany him, Kwert. The boy need not be alone.'

Kwert looked at Maulwerf, and Maulwerf looked back, inclining his head just a little, for he could see no objection to Ullendorf's plan. Philbert was useful, and had been with the Fair of Wonders long enough to be considered a part of the family Maulwerf created for every waif and stray who ­happened into it, but he knew too that Kwert had seen something special in the lad and, with Hermann gone, was the closest to a father the boy would ever have.

Kwert closed his eyes. Ullendorf had been right to call him a forquidder, a Teller of Signs, but Kwert was much more than a mere entertainer. He too had long followed the scholastic ­pursuit of bulbils and bumps, phrenology and craniometry and, as he'd already stated, was a firm admirer of Ullendorf who was foremost in this very field. Even so, Kwert wasn't particularly happy about the plans Ullendorf had for Philbert, but as long as he was willing for Kwert to accompany Philbert every step of the way Kwert couldn't see how he could reasonably object.

‘All right then,' Kwert said, opening his eyes again. ‘All right. Myself and Philbert will do as you ask, but only on the proviso that we will, at summer's end, be allowed to return to the Fair.'

‘My dear Kwert,' Ullendorf laughed. ‘You won't be prisoners, but free to leave whenever you choose.' He laughed again, ­slapping Kwert on the back. ‘And so it's agreed.'

And so it was, and had Ullendorf lived long enough he would have bitten those last few words right back into his head.

16

Coming into Anchorage

It was a grey sulk of a morning when Kwert and Philbert left Finzeln and the Fair, all wrapped up in mist, the jolts and pot-holes of the road throwing them into the crushed velvet of Ullendorf's carriage sides. Philbert had never felt so grand nor so sad and excited all at the same time. They left with Doctor Ullendorf to go with him across country back to his home, leaving everything; but for a small time only, Kwert had assured Philbert.

They departed before daybreak having said their goodbyes the night before: Lita still clutching at the Bowman's arm – they were practising a new act together, she announced, him playing his fiddle, she dancing up him like a squirrel up a tree until he threw her wide and somersaulted her back down to her feet. Philbert promised himself that when he returned he would bring a present for her and had already decided what it would be: a pair of shiny little shoes to house those toes that had dangled with him in the water way back in Staßburg. The hardest thing for Philbert was that he'd have to leave Kroonk behind, Ullendorf convincing him that two days travelling confined in a carriage would be tantamount to torture for the poor animal. That he had no place for a pig in his household he didn't ­mention, nor did he quite appreciate that pig and boy had never spent a day apart in almost five years, which was the most part of both their lives. Philbert hugged her rough red neck and kissed her soft warm snout that smelled, as always, of mud and must. She kroonk-kroonked gently and waggled her tail, ­putting her head on Philbert's knee, not understanding how long it would be until she saw him again. Unexpectedly it was Lita's Bowman who said he would take especial care of Kroonk in Philbert's absence. His name was Lorenzini Archetto, born in Finzeln, and itching for adventure ever since. He knew all about little
porcellinos
, he said, having been pigman for half the town's population since he'd been knee high to a grasshopper. He knew how to tickle her ears and rub her snout just right. And Philbert could ask for no more.

Dawn found Ullendorf's carriage and its occupants far from Finzeln, rolling through stands of creaking oaks, their old leaves crackling beneath their wheels, new buds barely breaking from their stems. Philbert heard the wind whispering through their branches as they passed, wondering what they said, remembering something the Turk had told him and how his mother's people believed the breeze-blown leaves told tales of things past and things yet to come, if only a person knew how to listen. It was just the sort of nonsense Fair Folk came up with all the time but in this instance, as they passed through that dark corridor of oaks, Philbert craned his neck towards the partly shuttered window and wished it were true.

Opposite him slumped Ullendorf, his hat on the seat beside him, his dark curls leaping up and down with every bump. It wasn't often a child saw the top of an adult's head, especially one as large and tall as Ullendorf, but Philbert could see it now, and realised why Ullendorf was so fond of his blasted hat for there, right on the top of his head, now denuded of bouncing curls, was a large bald patch, round and pink and smooth as the underbelly of the piglet Kroonk had once been. Philbert smiled and turned his attention away, began staring from the window, watching the world slip and change as they moved from dawn into something brighter. They'd reached the end of the vast ­forests that surrounded Finzeln, the trees having thinned and then shrunk into stubby grey shrubs, listing to orange as the light grew and warmed. Mist rose from the river, drawing fish to the surface to suck at the gnats that clouded the banks, kingfishers flashing streaks of iridescent green and blue right through them like shiny spears, and soon the blackbirds and robins began to sing and the chill fell away from the edge of the day.

Philbert wriggled from his blanket, knocking Kwert from his gentle snores.

‘Aaaghlgh!' Kwert yawned above Philbert's head, knees and elbows clicking as he stretched. ‘Morning at last,' he murmured, to no one in particular, and leant forward to release the rest of the window blind. It shot up with a crack, the finger-ring ­tapping at the glass, the quick bright light rousing Ullendorf from his slumbers. Kwert tapped him on the knee with his canteen.

‘Something to moisten the morning muggle, Doctor?' Kwert said, handing him a flask of watered wine. ‘And for you, Little Maus, how about some reading?'

He was delving into his knapsack for the
Philocalia
but the lifted blind had revealed far too much and already Philbert was pulling at Kwert's sleeve, pointing out of the window, seeing things he
'
d never seen before, the carriage taking them far from the normal drove-roads and tracks the Fair usually took.

‘Look at that tree!' he exclaimed. ‘And what kind is that with all those yellow berries on it? And what's that white bird over there? I've never seen one before. And look at that house! Someone has painted it blue! And oh look, look over there! There's a castle up on top of that hill!'

When Philbert had finally prattled himself dry and finished annoying his fellow passengers with his questions and amazements, it was his turn to tumble into sleep. When he woke again an hour or so later he was given black bread and cheese, and was appalled to learn they were less than halfway through that first day's travelling, for the carriage ride that had begun in comfort had lost its glamour, boards become hard as stones, cushioned seats turned into a bed of conkers. Ullendorf began telling his companions about Lengerrborn, where he lived: a small town snuggled between Osnabruck and Bielefeld.

‘Only a day's coach-ride from Dortmund and Bremen. Perfect for the chase of
Lusus Naturae
. The Sports of Nature, dear boy,' he elucidated, jamming his not inconsiderable hat onto his head. ‘Ullendorf the name, Teratology the game, to use a Kwert-like catch-phrase.'

The more tired Philbert got with the travelling, the more Ullendorf seemed to perk up, telling them in great detail about his home and the laboratory he had built there over the years and how he would have the great privilege of taking another look inside Philbert's head in circumstances far less trying than back at Finzeln. He seemed as excited at this prospect as any Fair-goer paying over his penny to see a new exhibit; he might not know exactly what his penny would enable him to see, but he surely wanted to see it.

Philbert's initial wonderment faded dramatically on the second day of travelling, every bone in his body felt bruised by the bump and jump of the carriage, nothing in the world of interest to him anymore but his own discomfort. It was at least as dark as when they'd left Finzeln when they finally arrived in Lengerrborn and came to a stop. All to be seen outside the carriage were two glimmering torches hoisted high on columns either side of a great wrought iron gate. Ullendorf flung the carriage door open, stuck out his head and breathed in deeply of the fresh night air.

‘Welcome to my abode, my friends, to my haven, or my House of Horrors, as it is known hereabouts.'

Ullendorf was jovial in the extreme as he tethered the carriage's horses to a post just inside the gates, and Philbert was too tired to protest when Ullendorf insisted he and Kwert disembark and take the last few yards up the winding track on foot. They trudged on wearily behind their host, and up a short flight of steps to the wooden door of a house that was hidden in darkness. Ullendorf put out a hand and grabbed at a dangling rope that was weighted with a brass globe the size of man's fist, a mighty jangling ringing out fit to burst lesser heads than Philbert's.

‘Like a ship coming into Anchorage, which is the name of my home,' laughed Ullendorf.

Then the door swung open and a huge aproned woman advanced upon her visitors in a floury cloud, the scents of sesame and honey-cake surrounding them as did her fleshy arms, flapping them all in like chicks beneath her wings.

‘Brother, brother,' she chided Ullendorf. ‘
Du knabe unartig
! What on earth are you doing keeping these poor gentlemen ­sitting on the step while you ring your
schrecklich
bell? Don't you know how cold it is? And who is looking to the horses? And oh my, look at that poor mite.'

The woman ballooned over Philbert. ‘You will come down to the kitchen with me immediately and I'll fix you up something grand and hot to eat. Merciful God! That brother of mine is really the end. All manner of strangers and so little warning. But you know men,' the woman chattered on, abandoning Kwert and her brother as she led Philbert away down the lamp-lit hall.

‘All alike in my experience,' she continued. ‘So long as they've got something they can chew over – talk, talk, talk, their mouths twitching like rabbits at a blade of grass – then they are happy. Those two can sort themselves out with the bottle of port I've left in the sitting room, for no doubt that will entertain those two sots while I see to you. Come along with me, my dear,' and Philbert's hand disappeared into hers, soft and warm as rising dough.

‘Oh and Heinrich,' the woman paused briefly at the threshold of the kitchen, turning back as Ullendorf and Kwert began to come in through the open door. ‘Welcome home. There's port already out and I'll bring you and your guest something shortly, but first the boy . . .'

Ullendorf laughed, well used to his sister's thwarted leanings towards motherhood and expecting nothing less of her. He shook off his hat, sweeping it in an arc through the air as he bowed deeply to her, his curls unfurling briefly before being pinned back again by the brim of his voluminous hat.

‘Always a pleasure to be back, Helge, always a delight. And port you say? Port in the safe haven of home! What could be more apt?'

And with that pronouncement he and Kwert disappeared down the corridor, Ullendorf talking non-stop, his arms gesticulating, Kwert dipping his head as he tried to follow what the man was saying.

Once in the kitchen, Helge smiled at Philbert, her face as round as a bun.

‘That brother of mine, what can you do with him? Here and there he goes, here and there, and always he comes home without so much as a by your leave. If it hadn't been for Fatzke calling earlier to say he'd seen you on the trail, I shouldn't have known you were coming at all. Anywise, here you are, my ­duckling. You sit yourself down on that stool by the stove. You must be cold as an icicle, and I'll bet you could use a slice of blueberry pie with a bit of warm custard, so you just wait
t
here
while I fetch you a slice from the pantry.'

Philbert sat on the stool and leaned against the edge of the range, glad for the warmth of it seeping into his bones. The kitchen was huge, all painted white, even the flag-stones of the floor, in the middle of which stood an enormous slab of
a
table. From the ceiling hung racks and pulleys holding washing and hams and bundles of drying herbs, copper basins and black-bottomed pans. Helge returned with a bowl full of pie and poured on some thick, steaming custard from a jug on the range. She gave him a small silver spoon with a figure carved into the handle.

‘Lucky for you I've not long taken some to Widow Wilhelm next door and the custard's still hot as a chestnut. You eat as much as you want, my duck, and I'll set a platter for Heinrich and his friend. I think I've still some of that veal and there's plenty of those butter-crumbed eggs . . .'

Helge bustled about her kitchen, bringing out plates of cold meat and potato salads from the pantry, placing them on trays, rattling spoons, arranging dishes, humming all the while. Philbert forgot about being tired and bruised and bad tempered and was soon kneeling on the big chair by the table, watching Helge's hands weave in and out of her dishes, folding slices of meat into slivers of bread.

‘Putting the baby to bed, they call this,' she hummed, then began to dip cold dumplings into melted butter before putting them to fry on the stove. She gave Philbert a little taste of everything and he sat watching, as warm and welcomed as he'd ever felt in his life.

Helge left briefly to take all her dishes to her brother and Kwert, and when she returned she sang softly as she washed up her pots and pans. When she saw Philbert's eyelids drooping, his head falling down onto his arms, she lifted him up, just as Philbert had many times lifted the piglet Kroonk, and carried him off to bed.

And what a bed! All big and bold with white sheets and ­pillows, and an eiderdown quilted all over in patchwork flowers. Helge removed the hot bricks she'd earlier placed there from the sheets as Philbert crawled in, and she leant over him for a moment as she tucked the boy in. She put a warm hand on Philbert's cheek, and kissed his forehead and wished him good dreams before leaving. From outside came a caterwauling of tomcats fighting for their territories in the gardens beyond, reminding Philbert of that Bowman sawing at his nail-fiddle, and the tap-tap-tapping of Lita's feet, and hoped to God he was looking after Kroonk as he'd promised; then Philbert slept, and slept deeply. And long, long would Philbert remember the feel of those sheets and those pillows, and every flower of that ­eiderdown: his very first night in a proper bed.